


Murder Mystery

by UserExeNotFound



Series: Countryhumans Oneshot Collection, crossposted from Wattpad [3]
Category: CountryHumans, Geography (Anthropomorphic)
Genre: F/M, Hanging drawing and quatering, Implied/Referenced Torture, Murder, flaying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-12 05:36:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29130408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UserExeNotFound/pseuds/UserExeNotFound
Summary: While Poland may have planned to have his revenge, his plans totally get screwed when he falls for his victim instead.But it's fine. He can kill others while finding inspiration in her novels.
Relationships: Germany/Poland (Anthropomorphic)
Series: Countryhumans Oneshot Collection, crossposted from Wattpad [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2137527
Kudos: 3





	Murder Mystery

**Author's Note:**

> !WARNING!  
> The following Oneshot contains:  
> \- Blood  
> \- Graphic descriptions of murder  
> \- Brutal torture/murder methods   
> \- Flaying   
> \- Axe murder  
> \- Hanging, drawing and quartering
> 
> [PLEASE proceed with caution!! A few of the scenes describe murder, one mentioning the removal of intestines and hacking the body into several parts.]
> 
> !DISCLAIMER!  
> I do not mean to offend anyone by portraying Poland this way. I just started writing and went with the flow. If you dislike the way I wrote his character just know that I do not mean to offend. Thank you.

"I am home!"

"Welcome home, meine Liebe **(my love)**! How was your day at work?"

"Same as always, love. By the way, in my break I thought about your question again. You can kill someone with a spoon. It would have to be sharpened with something first though."

"Oh! Thank you. I will use it in my novel then!"

×•×○×•×

Poland has always been a peaceful country. At least in the sense that he never attacked his neighbours, instead he was always crushed by them.

Early on in his life, when the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth fell in 1795, he had thought that he would live peacefully in this new era of his existence. Now with his own country to rule and manage Poland had never felt so satisfied.

Then, the German Empire happened. World War One happened. He was split between him and two? three? other countries as well but he couldn't remember them as clearly as him.

He really didn't want to think much about it. He was only a child, a new independent country that never had anything to do with any wars. Sure, his father had told him and Lithuania, his half-brother, about the wars he fought in, but the small Slav had never been in one himself.

When the German Empire marched into his land and took it, tortured him, he had been only a boy, not in the least prepared for any of this.

He survived that time, however. He survived and was saved by the Allies, free to live and rule for himself again. In his time with the German Empire he had learned. Not how to fight, but rather to watch out for threats.

As a child, he had never thought anyone would want to hurt him unless he did something first. Now he knew, anyone could hurt him anytime.

When he learned of the Third Reich occupying Czechoslovakia and "Anschlussing" Austria, he had been on his guard. Had placed soldiers on his border to the German.

Poland thought that this time, he would be prepared, that this time he wouldn't be taken, and France and UK would come to his aid, should the Reich decide to invade him. He was wrong. So very wrong. He wasn't prepared for the Germans with their heavy force, with their, admittedly, amazing army. He wasn't prepared for the Soviet and his Red Army, coming from behind. He wasn't prepared for France and UK, not helping him.

While they may have tried, they didn't try hard enough for all the times they reassured him they would protect him.

In 1939 Poland learned to never trust his neighbours blindly. To NEVER trust any Germans and always be on his guard around them.

His territory got split in the middle between the Russian and the German, meaning that he too, was basically owned by both. Like a slave. Split between different forces again. This time he remembered both, however.

He remembered even today the pain they caused him. They both had different ways to make him suffer.

The Soviet Union liked to violate him to an extreme, or just use him as a punching bag when he was angry for whatever reason.

The Third Reich liked to experiment on him. How long did it take for a country to freeze to death? How long did it take for a country to starve? How many bones could you break before they passed out because of the pain? How much blood could you take? and so many more he didn't feel like listing, much less remembering.

If the Polish was honest, he had lost count of how many near deaths he had experienced with them alone.

He hated them. Hated them so much. Despised them in a way that even he, the peaceful Slav he was, wanted his revenge on them.

When he learned that the Soviet had children, he had been so very sorry for them. Had silently prayed for them, hoping they weren't treated the way he was.

They may be the children of his second worst nightmare, but that's what they were. Just children. They had nothing to do with the Russian's doings.

When the Third Reich betrayed the USSR in 1941, Poland had been so very happy. The first reason was that, considering that they were both focused on killing the other, they would do nothing to him in a long time. Sure, the German soldiers would come in to use him as their punching bag and leave, but nothing they did ever even came close to what their leader and his ex-ally did to him. The second reason was that soon, one of them would be dead. He hoped it would be the Third Reich.

In 1945 the war ended. Poland learned of the Third Reich's suicide through the USSR, who had decided to let him out of the basement he was kept and took him to a house away from the basement. He learned it was the Soviets house and met his children. He also met Lithuania again and learned that the Soviet had invaded his half-brother as well, taking him and his two siblings to live with his kids.

A few days later Poland was allowed to live in his own house again, but still had to live with the Soviet government, being part of his land now. He was glad about being in his home again. Had never felt more safe.

Then he heard of Germany. He was taken to a world meeting by the Soviet. There he got to know that the Third Reich had a child too. Many had wanted to kill her; the Polish had wanted that too. The Allies decided to split her into two parts. East and West. Soviet got to keep the East side, the Allies each took a zone within the West side, later uniting their areas into one single zone.

Poland never wanted to learn of the situation in Germany, staying in blissful ignorance to the two parts of one country split by a wall. Staying ignorant to the crisis and the shame and the pain and everything his neighbour country went through.

In 1955 was the next time he heard of his biggest nightmare's successor again. He sat in one of UNs meetings again, listening to the usual reports of peacekeeping and trade deals until NATO burst in, proudly declaring: "She joined NATO!" to the other organization.

The UN had stopped everything to look at NATO and ask him who he meant by that.

The other just proudly declared: "West Germany joined NATO!"

Needless to say, the rest of the meeting had been filled with various nations protesting and asking him how he could "let the enemy join".

Just two years later, in 1957, the same protests came up again when the predecessor to the EU, the European Economic Community, was founded, West Germany being one of its founding members.

At that point Poland had grown intrigued by this country. She made him wonder what there was about her that made the Allies and the organizations defend her in conversations. He finally decided to read up on his mysterious neighbour, learning so much about her. He felt kind of guilty in hindsight. That he hadn't given a single shit to learn something about her country, and now being presented by a country, being split by a wall, keeping two parts of the same person from turning back into one, split between democracy and communism, blamed for what their predecessors had done.

Still, he never moved a muscle to support her, or meet her face to face. A part of him whispered it was his fear of her being just like them, even when those in charge of her defended her so much only 12 years after it happened.

The first time he met the girl was in 1973, when she officially joined the United Nations. He learned that she had actually had contact to the UN since 1952 but had only been an observer till now. She hadn't been allowed to go to meetings but had been informed of the topics and major business.

By now, countries saw it a bit more relaxed with hearing her do anything. They had trust that those in charge would never let her do anything like her ancestors. So, while she was welcomed with glares and cold stares, at least she wasn't booed or vocally shamed.

He remembered how nervous she looked, fiddling with the sleeves of her black suit jacket that she wore over the white button up, rubbing her hands over the back of her white gloves and always doing something with her hands in general. He knew that they were nervous ticks. Poland himself used to fiddle with his sleeves too.

When he had looked at her, he immediately knew 3 things about her.

One, she had an incredibly low self-esteem.

Two, she had a non-existent national pride. She was literally the complete opposite of America in that regard, even asking for her flag to be taken down from the display it stood in, next to the other members’ flags.

Three, she felt guilty for even the smallest things. Every time something was phrased in a way where it sounded just 1% like it was her fault, she would bow down a bit, looking at the ground, and apologize so much that France had to stand up and take her out of the room to calm her, before coming back in and have her apologize AGAIN for having to leave the room.

In other words: Germany was perfect for his revenge.

He wanted to make her regret her ancestors actions even more than she already did. He knew it was unfair, knew that she wasn't at fault and could do absolutely nothing about it, back then and now, but he wanted to feel that sweet, sweet moment when he saw her break because of him.

The Pole decided to, for now, stay put and wait until she came to him.

And she did.

In the very same year, she hesitantly tipped him on the shoulder one day after a meeting. She was smaller than him, had to lift her head a bit, and it made him feel so much more superior and powerful than he was. She had apologized for her grandfather's and fathers' actions personally again and promised him to pay as much of the still required reparations as she could. (Later Poland learned that she had already done that for years).

He forgave her. At least in her eyes. He made her accept an invitation for coffee with him the next day as well.

And that's how it started. He had planned to make her fall for him, play a fake love and then, years later break up with her and tell her it was never real, hiding his true intentions by a staged plan to ask for her hand in marriage. Maybe he would also demand some of her land as some kind of repayment and if she refused, he would just invade her, like her father had done to him, like her grandfather had done to him. On second thought, just invading sounded better to him. He could justify it as well.

At least that was his plan at the beginning.

Poland had never planned to fall for her.

×•×○×•×

He stared down at the bleeding body of the woman. She had been beautiful, truly a masterpiece even when he suspected that most of it wasn't real, rather make-up and surgery. Now, she couldn't be distinguished for how she looked formerly.

Her body was beaten bloody, some bones broken, her rips even poking out of her flesh.

Sometimes while killing his victims the way she asked, he would additionally disfigure them, lest they suspect her as the murderer.

He had many victims already; each killed a specific way.

This time her question had been if you can kill someone with an icicle. He had told her that it could work but he hadn't been sure, so he had promised her he would investigate it again and tell her when he got home from "work".

The woman had done nothing to him. She was a prostitute, waiting on the streets for gentlemen to pick her up and pay her for a night. From the looks of it she didn't do it because she needed to but rather because she enjoyed the sex. Being paid for it was just a nice bonus.

He had picked her up when nobody was there to witness it and taken her into some dirty alley not far from where he found her. When she had thought that he simply had an exhibition kink he put down the cooler he had with him, took out the icicle and attacked her.

She had screamed in the little window of time, but nobody heard her. He stabbed through her skull. At least he tried to. It proved hard to slice through the bone to her brain. Not even the skin was able to be broken.

The icicle was very slippery, already beginning to melt off and it was uneven as well, not giving a sharp enough part that would be able to slice through. Growling he had proceeded to just beat the woman with the icicle as hard as he could, in as many places he remembered from Third Reich's experiments were vital parts.

Well, at least the Third Reich had been good for something in the Pole’s life besides Germany.

When she lay on the ground, he dropped the icicle, letting it melt into a puddle of water. Deciding that she still didn't look dead enough to him, Poland proceeded to punch and kick her body around as well, stepping on her chest, her arms and her legs.

The only sound heard in that alley were the squelching noises, the dull thud of the body hitting the asphalt when he kicked her and the gurgling sounds her throat made when the body took its last breaths, before finally stopping to work all together or when he stepped on its chest making it release a pant. The sounds echoed around the entire alley and the Slav was surprised nobody had heard it and come to investigate. Perhaps they thought someone was doing the dirty back here and wanted to keep the innocence of their eyes for the rest of the night.

Watching for any type of movement from the woman, Poland picked up the cooling box and walked away, praising the lords that countries didn't have any DNA.

×•×○×•×

"I am home!"

"Welcome home, meine Liebe **(my love)**! How was your day at work?"

"Same as always, love. I thought about your question again. You can kill someone with an icicle, but only by beating them with it. The surface of the icicle would be too slippery and there wouldn't be a sharp enough end that could penetrate the skin."

"Thank you, meine Liebe **(my love)**."

×•×○×•×

It hadn't been that long since the countries were allowed to have a job and go to work like a normal human. It had only been 20 years to be exact.

Many countries didn't care about the permission. They were paid for working with the government anyway and couldn't be fired, no matter how they fucked up. Hell, they were the representations of actual countries. It would be kind of pointless for them to exist if they didn't work with their government as the one with absolute control over everything. They alone decided what went on in their country.

At least in most cases. There were also cases like in Chile or Hungary. Where they worked with their governments, but the government still stood above them. It hadn't always been like that for them, but things change.

As he already said, most countries didn't care, preferring to do what they always did and not give themselves more work to do.

Then there were those who were overjoyed with the permission.

UK had applied at a small tea shop that he worked in to destress and enjoy himself, surrounding himself with one of the things he loved.

Italy had opened a few restaurants all over the globe, posing as the head chef there and preparing the food with the recipes of his ancestors, paying them respects every day.

Japan had started to professionally draw manga and write storyboards for them, using her hobby as a way to make extra money while having fun.

That was just to name a few others than his wife.

Poland himself had never seen the appeal. He already had enough stress with managing his country while keeping his damn sanity with everything that was going on in the world at the moment. He couldn't even understand why Germany of all people got a second job, considering she was already working all day anyway and constantly stressing herself without having to.

When she came home way more relaxed and happier however, he understood. This additional job gave her an escape from the constant paperwork and guilt she went through when writing the checks for the countries she still had to pay the debts from the two wars to. Made her forget her worries and feel like a normal person for at least a few hours a day.

When she had told him that, he had supported her in every way he could. Everything to make her feel better. It was weird. First, he had wanted to humiliate and break her heart in the worst way possible as his form of revenge and now he only wanted to see her smile for him at least once a day. Fate really had a funny way of working.

That word again. Work.

Germany did it a lot. Working.

The first job she tried out had been as a librarian. She had enjoyed the quiet, however she also reported that she felt even more like a secretary there than she normally did anyway. It's why Poland encouraged her to quit and search for something else. After her reunification she finally felt allowed to work in engineering. She definitely had the skill for it, and she did like it, but after a month in which she just felt tired, and with that, constantly miserable when she came home, she quit.

The next job she tried out was writing. She felt like, considering she liked reading so much, she should give it a shot. First, she only wrote children books, then when she felt more comfortable, she started with novels. Around that time, she really got into watching crime shows with Poland when they had some free time. When she had written her first murder scene, she had hesitantly asked her husband to read it and tell her if it was any good. She felt like she offended him, but he waved it off.

It was good. Amazing even. The scene was incredibly detailed, and it was written as if she had murdered someone this way, documenting every second and even the finest of details, just to write it into her novel. The only thing he found was wrong was the fact that you can't kill someone by repeatedly slapping them with a rolled-up carpet and leaving it at that. He did have to say it was a pretty creative method though.

That's how Poland came to his "job".

×•×○×•×

"Jestem w domu. **(I am home.)** "

"Willkommen zuhause, meine Liebe **(Welcome home my love)**! How was your day at work?"

"Bad. Today was bad, światło słoneczne **(Sunshine)**. The cafe was bought by some pimp. They are turning it into a strip club."

"Oh! That's upsetting. Are you okay, love?"

"Yes I am. How about we watch a movie now through? I want to think about something else."

×•×○×•×

The Slav came home from meetings where the second world war was mentioned angry every time without fail. He had instructed Germany to hide and leave him to cool down when he got like that, lest he hurt her.

After having slapped her once when she realized it too late, she had begged him to search for a job to destress.

And he had done just that. He never wanted to hurt her again or even come close to it. At first, he had worked at a small cafe. He enjoyed working there a lot, loved the smell of fresh pastries and beverages, homemade with lots of love. He loved the relaxed, welcoming atmosphere. But the thing he loved the most were the customers;

There was one older lady that would come in, buy herself a slice of lemon tart and sit in an armchair, staring out the window while eating. She would later be joined by a young man who would buy himself a Cappuccino and drink it while talking with her. Then he would take her home. When the lady didn't come in for a week, the Pole had been worried. The next time the man came in, Poland learned that the lady had been his grandmother, who had died of cardiac arrest.

There was also a cute couple who would come by. The male would buy his girlfriend a hot chocolate and himself a black coffee. Sometimes they would share a milkshake as well, switching between strawberry and vanilla each time. They would always sit and hold a hushed conversation, the girl giggling a lot and the boy gently smiling at her. They would always come together. When the girl came in by herself one day, she sat at the little bar like part of the counter, sipped her hot chocolate and ranted to him about how she caught him cheating on her on their 5 years anniversary. She had cried and sobbed, other customers giving her glances of pity. The Polish had made her a beverage, mixing her usual hot chocolate with vanilla flavour and chocolate syrup, calling it the "bitter revenge mix", for free and given her a vanilla milkshake, telling her to either dump it on him or his new girl while smiling. The girl had giggled, taking her drinks and waving goodbye. She never visited the cafe again.

Another of his most liked customers was a father and his daughter. He would take the child to the cafe after kindergarten and order a donut and soda for her. He himself would buy a croissant. When one day an agitated woman came into the cafe and screamed at the father. Poland learned that she was his ex-wife, who had domestically abused him. She had been sentenced to prison for 3 years and he had taken custody over their daughter. The Slav, of course, had kicked the woman out and calmed down the father, giving him a box of donuts on the house for having to face his abuser again. He knew how it felt.

Even with all the sadder events that transpired there, Poland loved the cafe. He helped the customers when they needed more than just a pastry and beverage and gave them some peace of mind, sometimes if they asked for it even an advice.

Of course, he had taken his lovely wife there too. They had shared two slices of a black forest cake, or how she insisted he needed to call it: "Schwarzwälder Kirschtorte". It was her favourite.

The thing that brought him to murder trough, was closely related to the cafe. It's why he was talking about all this in the first place.

Considering that the countries all collectively lived in a different capital every 5 years, which is chosen by, what was literally just a fortune wheel that they had modified, there were a lot of huge brand fast food joints in the city. They were in their 3rd year of living here now. Poland knew that, as soon as they reached their 5th year here they would have to spin the wheel again, pack all their stuff and say goodbye to the cozy apartment they had been given here in Vienna. He knew that he would have had to say goodbye to the nice cafe for quite some time anyway. He still wanted to work there for the rest of his time though!

Imagine his anger when he had been told the cafe was sold off and all employees would have to find a new job.

It was inevitable. One day the cafe would have had to be sold anyway. It wasn't doing well financially because, while visited often by one-time-guests and their regulars it still didn't make enough money to be held on to long.

The Polish man wasn't angry at the nice gay couple who had owned the cafe. They had loved it, and had told him it was a family cafe, given to them by the father of the older one before he passed.

He was angry at the damn pimp, who had sent his secretary to buy off this innocent cafe. Just to turn this beautiful place into a strip club. He was absolutely furious, had stomped out the back of the cafe into the alley to calm down.

There, in the dirty alley filled to the brim with the smell of garbage and some rats, had been the secretary of the pimp, talking on the phone, probably with her boss. Telling him about how cheap she could make the deal, how she forced them into giving the place away for far cheaper. How pathetic the situation had been and to; "please don't send me to buy one of your clubs ever again. I don't want to see those pathetic people, with their sad gazes begging me for more money. Should have gotten a better job then. They wouldn't be poor and sitting at my feet for money if they did that."

And hearing those words Poland had snapped.

He didn't remember the exact way he had killed her. He only remembered the sound of her skull cracking, her strangled scream, the blood slipping through his fingers and dripping to the ground.

Strangely he hadn't felt panicked or guilty after he killed her. He only felt satisfied, calmer.

He realized that, while working at the cafe was very nice and relaxing, killing people helped him more.

After his first kill it had taken half a year for Poland to turn back to being angry again and having to search for calmness. Germany had made him search for a job again, fearing more for Poland's wellbeing than her own. He would never make her worried on purpose so he volunteered to help out in the local library without pay. He used that job to cover up his murders.

While he did help in the library at least three times a week, the other days, if he needed it, he would kill.

Germany didn't know. Poland would make sure she'll never know. She wouldn't love him anymore if she knew.

×•×○×•×

"I am home! I heard what happened to the Soviet Union. Are you okay? He was like a second father to you, correct?"

"I am fine, Polen. **(Poland)** "

"Are you sure?"

"Yes.. He treated both of us badly.. He may have been like a father figure at times but that doesn't delete his crimes.."

"Niemcy… **(Germany)** "

×•×○×•×

The Soviet Union had always been a thorn in Poland's side.

He had done so much to him. Violated him. Tortured him. But even after all that he had done to him AND other countries, they had let the damn Russian live.

Soviet lived with his son, Russia, in a house. He wasn't really a country anymore, would still come to the meetings though.

In the past, the Pole would have trembled and have had one mental breakdown after the other. He would never be able to bring out any words, much less move. It was similar for other countries that had been under his control. Germany too, had a shake throughout the whole meeting each time and would stutter in her speeches. She was the bravest of them at that time.

The longer the fallen Union had accompanied his son to the meetings through, the more used to him they got. They knew that he would never do anything to them there. The only one who would keep shaking would be Germany. She still felt like they would allow just anybody to go up to her and slap her without context for what her ancestors had done.

So, with time, the Slav's fear turned into pure anger at the fact that he wasn't punished for his doings.

They had punished Japan. They had punished the Fascist Italy. They had punished Germany the most out of all participants. But the Soviet got away clean, just having to split his territory to all his children and giving back the territories to their rightful owners. They had let him off the hook just like that and it made Poland incredibly furious.

If you consider the fact that he never got his revenge on the German Empire because he died in the war, never got his revenge on Third Reich because he killed himself, and never got his revenge on Germany because he fell for her and realized she didn't deserve it, Soviet was the right choice to get the justice he wants.

He was the only one of his enemies that was still alive, after all.

×•×○×•×

The first step to killing the USSR was befriending one of his children.

While the Polish was 100% sure it would be easier to befriend Ukraine or Belarus, Russia was definitely the closest to their father. The problem would be to befriend the taller country.

He knew it would be suspicious if he just came over and asked to hang out. He was sure he needed some kind of reason for a meeting, then would ask to hang out and maybe be friends.

Well it sure sounded easy.

Poland decided that his reason for a meet up would be trade deals.

And it even worked in a way. Russia accepted the invitations to meet up, they talked about potential trades and a few deals even happened, even if the smaller hadn't expected them to spontaneously work something out.

The downside was that Russia didn't let him in on a personal basis. Whenever he would ask the bigger nation to hang out, Russia would decline and make his way home. He would only ever accept when they went to a bar or to the home of the Polish.

Poland had the slight hunch that Russia perhaps liked Germany, and that was the reason he would accept an invitation to Poland's home. He would have to change that too, sooner or later.

Still his only focus was the Soviet Union for now. He would be his last victim. Poland swore that, after the Soviet Union was dead, he would never kill anyone again.

After a year of trying to befriend the Tripalsoki, he gave up. Instead his new plan was to propose a meeting to the Soviet himself to talk about the past. Maybe Poland sounded a little too much like he wanted to forgive the bastard but he nodded, inviting the Pole into his little hut he had in Siberia.

The Soviet would regret that later.

×•×○×•×

"I still can't believe they murdered him just like in my novel... again. Again someone died just like I wrote it. It's scaring me..."

"Don't worry, kochanie **(Sweetheart)**. I will make sure no one hurts you!"

"You sure will, Engel **(Angel)**. Maybe I should stop writing my novels after this one..."

×•×○×•×

All the while Poland tried to befriend Russia; he had trained.

He knew he wouldn't be able to kill the Soviet Union just like that. The other nation was way taller, stronger and had more knowledge and skill in fighting. He had fought against many powerful nations, after all. He knew that, if he really wanted to end the Russian he had to be prepared and know what he was doing perfectly.

And training he did.

He already had the advantage of knowing quite a few ways to torture someone to death because of Third Reich. He knew quite a lot of ways to murder someone because of the crime shows he and Germany watched, and the murder mysteries she wrote in her novels. He also looked new methods up with her.

He had flayed one of his victims, slowly slicing into their skin and peeling it off. He had started at her neck, slicing away there until he got a good enough grip on her skin. The rest of the process had been ripping with as much strength as possible. If he had to compare flaying someone with anything, he would say it's waxing. You apply the wax strip and rip it off hard and fast, still experiencing unimaginable pain. Poland had kept peeling until he reached her stomach. By then his victim had already been dead and he had stopped, not wanting to get more blood on himself and not knowing where to put the skin after he peeled it off anyway.

Another way he killed three of his victims was with a simple axe. Don't ask him how he hid it. He had been in a wrath induced haze when he committed those murders, so he didn't remember how he got the axe, and how he was able to carry it around in the first place. He did remember hacking into them.

The first got it slammed into his skull from behind, severing the connection of his two brain halves if the sickening crunch and wet sound was anything to go by. Oh, and the brain matters on his axe after he heaved it out again.

The second had turned around, just before Poland was about to slam the axe down onto their skull from behind again, receiving the sharp blade of it with their face. Needless to say, they were unrecognizable after. There was this huge gaping wound in the middle of their face, the insides of the head visible. several teeth lay on the ground around the corpse and one of their eyes even slipped out of its socket from the times he kept hitting them.

The third had gotten their limbs severed one by one while alive. The Slav had started with their legs, then their arms. He had sliced over their body with a pocketknife as well before finally beheading them with his axe. This victim had been the messiest by far. He had arranged the corpse and the dismembered limbs into a laying position when he finished, dragged the corpses next to each other and covered their faces with a white cloth. He had additionally put a different smiley face on each cloth.

Just like in her novel.

He still had one murdering method he wanted to try out desperately, however he kept that one for his last victim.

×•×○×•×

When Poland first entered the Soviets hut, he had found the place very cozy and homey. He liked it.

Still, he knew that this would be the first and last time he would see this house and talk to the communist on an equal playing field.

The Russian just waved him to follow, making his way across the hall, the living room and lastly up the stairs before opening a door and signalling his guest in.

The room the Polish boy stepped into seemed to be his war cabinet, now changed into a study with a desk standing in the middle of the room, two chairs on each side. Cautiously Poland took a seat at the table, watching as his enemy stepped around the desk to sit across from him.

"What you want talk about?", the taller had asked, stumbling over his sentence with a thick accent and broken English. He had looked down, fiddling with his thumbs.

Actually sitting across from the other nation, about to actually kill him just like he wanted, was so much more frightening than he had imagined. For a second he had been sure he would cower and lie straight through his teeth.

But he hadn't. He stood up, a foldable staff in his hand and hit the Union across the head. The opposite had never thought the Pole would ever go to these lengths and had not been prepared, falling unconscious immediately.

Poland hadn't been able to keep the satisfied grin of his face and he knew if anyone could see him right now, they would think he is crazy and stick him into a psychic ward.

He wasn't crazy, was he now?

Dragging the Soviet out of his office like he was dragged by a horse, the Pole didn't care whether he got a concussion, going down the stairs, rather he enjoyed the fact that he was about to end him.

Finally, sweet revenge would be his.

After bringing the body over to a structure, probably used to hang laundry, the small nation went over to the bag he took with him, in it everything he would need for his last kill.

The first thing he grabbed out of it was the robes.

Walking back to his victim, he proceeds to hang him on the structure. When he finally finished, tying the heavy man the way he needed him to be so that he would be hanged to death, he stepped back, looking over his work.

Nodding to himself he sat down, setting a timer to see how long it would take for the mighty Russian to be near his death.

After a good half an hour the USSR woke up from unconsciousness.

He couldn't really free himself, yet the Pole watched delighted while he tried, tiring himself out in the process.

After an hour, Poland got him down. By now, the Union was tired and relatively near his death, yet still not dead enough to miss what would happen next.

Laying the bigger country down, the small Slav went back to his bag, taking out a knife, a lighter and a small saw. He also went into the kitchen to grab a huge bowl and some firewood.

Sitting down on a chair, Poland rubbed his hands together, grinning like a maniac. He watched as the Soviet Union's face went from confusion into pure terror. Recognizing the craze in those eyes, he began starting to try and move again. His body wouldn't move however and the Soviet slowly started to break, barely holding on to his facade.

Taking off the mantle and shirt the Russian wore, he watched him shiver from the cold and fear, goosebumps all over his upper body. Slowly, Poland moved the knife to his victim's abdomen, softly brushing over it before hauling it back and brutally stabbing in, slicing it open like he was taking apart a fish. He made sure to leave the intestines in good shape. He didn't want to ruin the next part. He will make him suffer like he had to suffer once.

The next one to two hours were spent taking out the intestines of the Soviet while listening to his screams and the slick, squelching noises his doings made. Thirty minutes in, he had thrown away all the facades he still had and started bawling his eyes out, screaming in pure anguish. Poland had grown from enjoying his sounds to being annoyed by them quickly, so he had stuffed earbuds into his ears, listening to music while, one after the other, removing his victim's intestines and throwing them into the bowl to watch them go out in flames.

He had put the firewood into the bowl and ignited it with the lighter after taking out the first two organs. While normally, the sexual organs were removed in this process as well, Poland felt revolted at having to take off the man's pants and touch his dick. He was a murderer, he was crazy, but he didn't plan on touching the dick of the man who had violated him with it so many times. While it would feel good to take one of the most hurtful weapons the Russian had used in the Polish, he still felt like he would have a mental breakdown if he saw it.

When he finished. He watched the flames until even the last of his intestines were turned into ash. Turning his head to the corpse he let his gaze wash over the body again. He was dead, but Poland wasn't finished yet.

He extinguished the fire, throwing the ashes into a bin and returning to the body.

This time, he took the saw. He removed the man's head before grabbing the knife again and hacking the Soviets corpse into four parts, quartering it. When he was finished, he packed the four body parts into individual packages and hid them around the house. Someone would find them.

At last he returned again, grabbed the Soviets dismembered head and pierced it on a sharp pole he had found. He left the pole standing in the house, proudly displaying the Soviet's severed head and collected his items, cleaning them beforehand.

Before he left at last, he cleaned up the mess he made, leaving the house just like he had entered it, the only difference being that its resident was now dead, his body scattered in the entire house in five parts.

×•×○×•×

"Hallo meine Liebe **(Hello my love)**. How was it at work?"

"Just like always. I helped a kid with their homework today. How was your day, darling?"

"Exiting! I finished all the papers and documents it will take to send out my last novel."

"You're publishing it?"

"Ja **(yes)** , the murders have calmed down. I am positive this time they won't be imitated."


End file.
